Occlumency
by Miss Snuffles
Summary: In two different versions, Ginny propositions Harry for Occlumency lessons, and he's not happy about it.


Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling, I am not rich, and I am probably losing money rather than making it by writing fan fiction. So do not sue me. I am in debt, thanks to the lovely rise in my tuition.  
  
A/N: Also . . . I had this little scene in my head and ended it up writing two different versions. Although very much alike, they're from separate PoV's and have a few variations in dialogue, tone, and detail.  
  
OCCLUMENCY  
By Miss Snuffles  
  
No flames flickered in the hearth—it was too warm for firelight—but Ginny stared into the dark, ashy depths, anyway. She sat on the floor, hugging her shins and resting her chin on her knees. A warm, soft breeze fluttered the curtains, but it wasn't what caused her to shiver.  
  
An itch brought her nose to the slightly ruffled shoulder of her nightgown. Gryffindor common room was completely still; everyone was asleep, except for her. Tomorrow morning—well, it was morning now, but daylight morning—it would be the start of term, her first day of classes as a fifth year.  
  
Outside somewhere an owl hooted; Ginny felt and heard the wind's soft whispering die. She tried to swallow a sense of foreboding. Paranoia.  
  
She shivered again and closed her eyes.  
  
A stair step creaked. The second step from the bottom. No one really knew why that stone step creaked.  
  
Ginny held her breath and kept still, her heart pounding. She knew it could be anyone of the Gryffindors sleeping upstairs, but little speculation was needed. Maybe if she kept quiet and still, utterly silent, he would miss her and return upstairs.  
  
A short, surprised breath sounded just a few feet away.  
  
"What are you doing up?" Harry said from behind.  
  
Ginny turned slightly, doing her best not to squint at the faint light coming from a torch by the portrait hole. Harry's silhouette was edged in a slight glow, darkening any distinction in his features.  
  
"Avoiding sleep," she said bluntly.  
  
Harry's profile gave a slight nod, but then stopped, and she could imagine more than see the slight furrow in his brow and the thoughtful tilt of his chin. "Why?"  
  
Biting her lip, she turned back to the hearth and hugged her knees closer. "Because I don't want to sleep." She hoped it would suffice. It wasn't like Harry was ever curious about her, and now he was hardly curious about anything. Merlin, he had his reasons for being so withdrawn and depressed, but many a time she simply wanted to strangle and scream at him, much like Hermione had done last year. That, however, is never a good idea. And now he might just let us finish him off.  
  
It was not an amusing thought.  
  
When Harry took a shuffling step forward, Ginny nearly leapt to her feet out of surprise. She'd expected him to wordlessly return to his dormitory.  
  
"Why don't you want to sleep?" he asked carefully, edging toward a lumpy chair by the hearth.  
  
"You're not exactly sleeping yourself," she said, still keeping her eyes fastened on the empty hearth. It really was unusually warm for September.  
  
Harry didn't answer. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, anticipating his flight. He hadn't said two words to her on the Hogwarts Express or at the feast. Ron and Hermione had about four.  
  
Harry was standing uneasily by the chair arm, his posture turned slightly toward the boy's staircase, but his weight had not yet shifted.  
  
Ginny sucked in a breath. Do or die. "I don't want to sleep," she said quietly, fighting the tightening in her lungs, the pounding in her heart, "because I don't want to hear him."  
  
Harry visibly straightened, but she couldn't see his expression clearly.  
  
"What," he said quietly, and she thought he might have licked his lips, "do you mean?"  
  
Nothing, she wanted to say, I meant nothing. But Harry, a professional at denial and dismissal, would surely not be swayed by that . . . unless he wanted to be swayed so he could escape and not worry about anyone else's problems.  
  
"N-nothing," she bit out. She turned back to the fire and closed her eyes. Please, just go back upstairs to your cozy little bed and dream your cozy little nightmares.  
  
Unfortunately, it seemed Harry didn't want to go back to his nightmares. Ginny flinched slightly as she heard the cushion sink under his weight.  
  
After a moment of silence, Harry sighed and said quietly, "Ginny, I'm sorry I sort of . . . forgot about your, er, part in the Chamber of Secrets." He paused, as if carefully choosing his words, and the back of her neck prickled, as if he were boring holes into it. Damn those eyes. "I mean, I didn't forget—I just don't think of it as you who opened it and everything. That was Riddle."  
  
Ginny kept her eyes closed and bit her lip until she could taste blood. A faint whiff of sweat hit her nose. I've got to calm down . . . I can't let Tom get to me like that . . . I can't let that—that THING get to me . . .  
  
"Ginny?"  
  
She blinked and jerked a little. She'd forgotten Harry was talking . . . Harry talking?  
  
"Are . . ." Harry stopped again, and Ginny couldn't suppress the image of him licking his lips nervously. ". . . are you having nightmares about Riddle? Is that why you can't sleep? Is that what you mean by you can hear him?"  
  
Oh, Harry, you sound so hopeful, Ginny thought sadly, her arms tightening around her shins. Of course you want it to be only memories. I only want it to be memories.  
  
"I have nightmares about Tom," she whispered. Gathering her courage, she rested her right cheek on her knees so she could peer into Harry's shadowy face. "But I can go to sleep with those. I can't . . ." she swallowed thickly. "I can't go to sleep hearing . . . seeing—"  
  
She stopped abruptly and lifted her head, suddenly falling back onto one of her most prominent nightmares of late.  
  
"Harry," Ginny gasped, her heart pounding. "What did you do with the diary?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What did you do with the diary?" Blood seeped from her knees as her fingernails gripped tightly.  
  
"I—" Harry sounded slightly surprised. "I gave it back to Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"You gave it back to him?"  
  
Ginny leapt to her feet. She swayed for a moment, dizzy from the sudden rush of panic. "You gave it back to Lucius Malfoy?"  
  
"To free Dobby, yes," Harry said defensively, gripping the arms of his chair and sitting straight. "The diary is ruined, Ginny. It's useless. There's nothing left of Tom Riddle."  
  
Nothing left of Tom Riddle? Is he MAD? Ginny trembled; her knees threatened to buckle. Harry stared at her, obviously confused by her behavior. How could he have given that blasted thing back to Lucius Malfoy, the one who'd slipped it to her in the first place?  
  
"Ginny?" Harry said cautiously. "Are you okay?"  
  
She shook her head, unable to speak. I feel so cold . . .  
  
"Dumbledore let me, so that must mean it's useless," he said slowly. "Well, it means there's a very good chance it's useless, anyway."  
  
Feeling sick, Ginny waved his comments off and weakly collapsed onto the sofa beside Harry's chair. She had a very bad feeling about this . . .  
  
I don't have to be a victim again, she told herself sternly. I know more now.  
  
". . . and I doubt Malfoy will tell him about, since the plan failed . . ."  
  
Oh, how naïve you are, Harry. You think he's just going to forget that he left a back-up plan?  
  
The time to act was now.  
  
"Harry," she said clearly, sitting up and looking directly at him. "You took Occlumency lessons last year."  
  
Harry seemed to press back into the chair, his hands curling slightly where they rested on the chair arms. "Yes."  
  
Ginny leaned forward determinedly. "Then teach me."  
  
Harry went very still. Slowly, tightly, he said, "I don't know anything."  
  
"You must have learned something," she pressed.  
  
"If I had," Harry said angrily, his voice constricted, his hands clenching as he launched to his feet, "Sirius would be alive!"  
  
She held her breath. Harry hadn't mentioned Sirius once all day. At least he can say Sirius's name. Despite knowing that uttering his godfather's name, even in anger, was a sign of healing, Ginny couldn't help but feel sick at the pain emanating from Harry. What could she possibly say to that pain? No, it was definitely better to wait the moment out.  
  
When Harry's chin dropped and his shoulders slumped, Ginny tried again. She wanted to help Harry, but she needed help as well.  
  
"Harry—"  
  
"No, Ginny."  
  
So firm, so resolute, so irritatingly stubborn. How could someone who blamed his being hoodwinked by Voldemort on his lack of practice completely refuse to help someone asking for that practice? She knew the answer to that: guilt. I could play on that guilt, Ginny realized, eyeing Harry shrewdly. I could twist his guilt so he gives me Occlumency lessons to prevent anything like this happening again, and maybe press him into practicing more. He'll have to practice more to teach me.  
  
But she couldn't bear to manipulate Harry's guilt over Sirius's death like that. No, she'd have to get leave Sirius out of this.  
  
"I don't want to talk about this, Ginny," Harry said when she opened her mouth. He dropped back down into his chair. "I'm not going to give you Occlumency lessons."  
  
"Voldemort could access your mind last year," said Ginny, coming to stand before Harry.  
  
"Yes, I know that," Harry said irritably. He made to get up, but realized that she was blocking him, so he tossed his hands up in surrender or frustration. "I told you—I don't want to talk about this!"  
  
"And I'm telling you why I avoid sleep!" Ginny had meant to sound angry and firm, but somehow her words came out panicked and desperate, and her knees hit the floor. No longer could she look down at Harry and feel imposing, in control. She was begging him, and no tact or subtle maneuvering could conceal that.  
  
At least it got his attention. Through the thin darkness between them, Harry stared at her almost fearfully.  
  
Her words trembled, but she kept her eyes fastened on his face. "I need your help, Harry. At night I'm seeing and hearing things I shouldn't. Things that Tom never said to me or showed me."  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry said, his voice low and intense.  
  
Ginny shook her head. How could she explain it?  
  
"Is Voldemort putting things in your mind?" He was leaning forward now, an intense, almost painful energy radiating off him.  
  
"No, I don't think so. At least, not directly." Ginny dug her fingers into the old, tapestry rug. "I don't want it to be direct. I don't want to be open to him." She clenched her teeth together and felt a searing hotness rip through her. "I don't want to be his captive again, Harry!"  
  
Tears blurred her vision and she ducked her head to wipe them away. Harry shifted back in his chair and she stared at his bare feet. Absently, she thought about telling him that they were a bit big for his present size, so not to worry, he'd grow some more . . .  
  
"Look," said Harry suddenly, sounding rather tired. She looked up to see him rake a hand through his hair. "I don't really think I can help you. It's dangerous, Occlumency. I don't know what I'm doing. And it involves reading each other's minds. I'd get your thoughts and memories—"  
  
"And you don't really care to know my thoughts," Ginny spat bitterly, unable to restrain herself.  
  
Harry stiffened and said darkly, "No one should have mine."  
  
Pressing her lips together, Ginny forced herself to look him in the eye. Even in the shroud of darkness, she could see the fiery pain in his face, the rigidity of his jaw. She wanted to place a hand on his knee, but knew it would be trespassing on something he didn't want her or anyone to have. He thinks his pain is his alone.  
  
Harry seemed to be looking over her shoulder as he massaged his forehead. "We could really hurt each other, Ginny."  
  
"No one needs Occlumency for that."  
  
Dropping his hand, Harry slumped completely in the chair, his head dropped on the back, and his palms turned slightly upward as his arms went limp.  
  
"Go to Dumbledore."  
  
Ginny looked at him sharply. "What?"  
  
"Go to Dumbledore," he repeated without lifting his head. "He can teach you Occlumency. I cannot."  
  
"You don't want to help me," she said flatly. You stupid prat, if you can't help yourself, at least help someone else! She stood up.  
  
"No, I can't help you!" Harry still didn't lift his head, but his pajama- clad body tensed.  
  
"Fine."  
  
She left no doubt what sort of 'fine' she meant as she stomped toward the portrait hole. Not for a moment did she want to go to Dumbledore's tonight, or confess to him that she had just been a pretender all this time and that she wasn't fine after the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle still had a grasp on her and she felt that Voldemort could easily possess her . . . But she would have felt better with Harry there to support her as he had on that awful night. He'd seemed to understand what had happened, and all through that shock and self-hatred, his voice had warmed her and defended her. If she was going to lay herself bare, then she wanted Harry there for support.  
  
Obviously, she was wrong.  
  
Ginny swallowed as she reached the portrait hole. She raised a foot to go through—  
  
"Wait—Ginny!"  
  
Holding back a gasp, Ginny snapped her head to find Harry hurrying across the common room, a darker but less menacing shape than the shadows.  
  
"Wait," he said again when he reached her. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "You're going to Dumbledore's tonight?"  
  
"Yes. I do want to sleep, and you're of no help."  
  
"Filch will be on the prowl."  
  
"Yes, I know," Ginny said, annoyed, "but it's a bit less of a risk than Voldemort, don't you think?"  
  
Under the closer torchlight, she saw a smirk flit across Harry's face, but there was no humor in his eyes. Only apprehension. "Just . . . wait a moment, okay? I can be of some help."  
  
With that he turned and disappeared up the boys' staircase. Ginny waited in the dark, moving directly under the torchlight and fighting a shiver. She was so tired . . .  
  
It seemed to be taking hours. Finally, she heard the padding slap of feet against stone, and Harry came into view carrying something long and shimmering. A tight grin graced his tense face as he brandished the silvery cloak under the light.  
  
"Your Invisibility Cloak?" she uttered, touching the magnificent fabric. Ron had told her all about this, of course, but she'd never seen it. And Harry's going to lend it to me . . .  
  
"Can't let Filch catch us," said Harry, unfolding the cloak.  
  
"Us?"  
  
Harry nodded and stepped closer, sweeping the cloak over them. "I'm coming with you. I'll be damned if I'm letting Voldemort use either of us again."  
  
Suddenly, pressed close to Harry under his Invisibility Cloak, she wasn't so cold or fearful anymore. He knew what Tom Riddle had done to her, what he could still do to her, and he was going to help her. As they stepped through the portrait hole, Ginny couldn't help but smile a little. She'd gotten Harry to take Occlumency lessons again.  
  
OCCLUMENCY  
A shortie by Miss Snuffles  
  
Dark silence wrapped around him as he silently descended the stairs, the stone cool and solid beneath his bare feet. Harry shivered, despite the unusually warm night. He was glad to be free of the stifling, oppressing dormitory with everyone's slow, deep breathing of unworried sleep, but he felt just as confined and edgy in the utter silence.  
  
When he came to the bottom step, Harry found the common room unusually dark. Of course, the usually roaring hearth was empty and hollow, and nearly every torch had been extinguished except for a few candles floating near the portrait hole.  
  
Harry took a deep breath and thumbed his wand as he peered into the semi- darkness. A soft whispering and faintest hint of air movement told him one of the tower windows was open. Somewhere an owl hooted.  
  
Harry shivered again.  
  
Just as silently as before, Harry crept further into the common room, his senses on full alert despite his fatigue. It wasn't that he expected Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange to leap out from behind a cushion, he just couldn't shake his nerves. The guarded trip to King's Cross had been anything but boring, and he still hadn't calmed down from his nervous train ride back.  
  
He was a marked man.  
  
His heart gave a start as he neared the hearth. A pale shape rocked slightly, curled and small on the floor. He stopped, realizing who it was. Even in the dim lighting, Ginny Weasley's long, fiery hair was unmistakable.  
  
Harry, motionless, stared uncomprehendingly. She seemed to be staring intently at the empty hearth's dusty, dark void.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked before he could stop himself.  
  
Ginny barely startled. Had she known he was here? Instead of jumping in fright, which he figured his sudden outspokenness would have done, she said quite bluntly, "Avoiding sleep."  
  
Well, obviously, Harry wanted to say, but he couldn't quite get the slight tease out of his throat. Instead, he said, "Why?"  
  
She turned slightly, her hair framing her pale, shadowed face. Somehow her eyes seemed to capture the distant torchlight; or was that something else that flickered across her piercing gaze? She seemed to be studying him, as if to say Aren't you also avoiding sleep?  
  
"I'm avoiding sleep because I don't want to sleep," she said quietly, turning her face back to the empty hearth.  
  
Oh, he knew that feeling well. Harry's fingers itched on his wand, which was always on his person now. He knew that not wanting to sleep feeling, that paranoia and fear of nightmares, of memories . . . But why did Ginny have that problem?  
  
"Why don't you want to sleep?" he found himself saying. He mentally clapped a hand over his mouth. She's going to say 'why don't you?'  
  
Her shoulders gave a little jerk, but instead of throwing the question he hated back at him, she put her chin on her knees and whispered, "Because I don't want to hear him."  
  
A chill ran down Harry's spine.  
  
Voldemort.  
  
"What . . ." he swallowed. "What do you mean?" He thought quickly back to her cool words to him last year. "Are you having nightmares about the Chamber of Secrets or something?"  
  
"Oh, that's nothing new," she said with a cold chuckle. "I can handle those. After all, they're just terrible memories." She gave a shudder and slowly turned to look at him. "It's when he says things that I don't remember—that he shouldn't remember—" Her eyes widened and then closed tightly.  
  
Harry stared, stunned, as her lips moved soundlessly. What exactly was she saying? She wasn't sleeping because she didn't want to hear Voldemort—a Voldemort not from her Chamber of Secrets memories . . .  
  
Ginny's eyes snapped open and she stared at him, her eyes narrowed slightly. "Harry."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
She opened her mouth, shut it, and looked back at the hearth. "What did you do with Tom Riddle's diary?" The question was slow and careful, filling Harry with unease.  
  
"I gave it back to Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"You what?!" With the shriek she was on her feet and staring at him, the whites of her eyes glowing in the darkness. "What pos—compelled you to do such a thing? You gave it back?"  
  
Harry forced himself not to take a step backwards. She was visibly shaking, and he vaguely wondered if she was carrying her wand.  
  
"I gave it back so Dobby could be free," he said, sounding rather defensive even to his own ears. "Dumbledore said it was fine. The diary was destroyed, Ginny. What could Lucius do with it?"  
  
Ginny's mouth gaped in disbelief, her arms lost in the folds of her nightgown. Harry couldn't tell for sure, but he thought her bottom lip was trembling. Crossing her arms, she hugged herself and stared back at the empty hearth, her unsteady breathing audible.  
  
"I thought Dumbledore had it all this time," she said quietly.  
  
"I'm . . . sorry."  
  
Ginny shook her head, but Harry didn't miss her shudder, even in the dim lighting. In her white cotton nightgown, she looked like a ghost. A sad, lonely specter.  
  
Even as he thought of this, standing dumbly before her, Ginny straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.  
  
"Harry," she said in a tone that instantly put him on his guard, "you were learning Occlumency last year, right?"  
  
"Yes." He fought to keep his anger from surfacing, but he felt the hard edge in his words. She knew this! Why was she bringing it up now?  
  
She stepped forward, and Harry could see her much more clearly. He'd never seen such a desperate and determined look before. Her eyes looked wet.  
  
"You can teach me."  
  
Harry blinked. What the bloody—? "What?" he croaked, unable to close his mouth.  
  
Ginny took another step forward and Harry found it hard not to take one back. "You know Occlumency—"  
  
"No, I don't." Harry clenched his hands into fists. "If I had known Occlumency, Sirius wouldn't be dead!" he nearly shouted, closing the space between them. Ginny's eyes widened and she retreated a step. "If I had practiced, none of us would have gone to the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive!"  
  
Harry took a deep breath, realizing that he was shouting. Rather than cowering, Ginny gave him an intense look, and yet her jaw was slack and her chin lowered. It unnerved him.  
  
"You must know something," she said quietly.  
  
"Didn't you just hear me?" he spat, his heart still pounding. Yet he could not quell his surprise that she wasn't giving him a speech about blaming himself or taking his grief out on his friends. Hadn't she all but called him a baby last year? And then offered to help me whenever I needed it.  
  
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, needing desperately to look at anything but Ginny Weasley.  
  
Ginny Weasley who couldn't sleep because Voldemort was on the prowl . . .  
  
"Look," he said, his voice much lower and calmer now, "I don't know enough to teach you anything. It's dangerous. Something could go wrong. And," he swallowed, "we could end up reading each other's minds. I don't want you seeing my mind," Harry added darkly.  
  
Ginny gave a derisive snort. "And my thoughts are the last thing you'd care to know about," she said bitterly.  
  
"Nor would you want to read my mind," Harry said defensively, feeling that he'd missed something completely in her sudden harshness.  
  
She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms, her chin thrust out.  
  
Harry stared back defiantly, but he had a distinct feeling he would lose this battle. "Look," he said, hoping he didn't sound bossy or like a prat, "just go to Dumbledore about it. I can't do anything."  
  
"Fine." Ginny arched a brow. "For someone who got an award for services to the school, you're not much help."  
  
And then she marched past him toward the portrait hole.  
  
Harry had an incredible urge to yell that those services were saving her life and killing a great basilisk, but then he remembered that he'd also given the diary back to Lucius Malfoy, who probably wouldn't stay in Azkaban long, and that Ginny really had been a tremendous help to him last year and had also hexed Draco Malfoy good and properly.  
  
"Ginny—wait!" He hurried across the common room where she was just about to disappear through the portrait hole. Closer to the torch light, he could make out of the freckles on her face and the slightly insolent purse of her lips.  
  
"Um, it's after curfew," said Harry. "Filch and Mrs. Norris will be patrolling the corridors. I can get my Invisibility Cloak and—and take you to Dumbledore's office. If you want, I mean." He suddenly felt awkward, but determined to prove that he wasn't just trying to shove her off (which was what he'd originally intended).  
  
Ginny straightened and gave him a genuine smile. "That would be wonderful, Harry."  
  
When Harry returned with the cloak, she was no longer smiling and wore an apprehensive expression, her bottom lip tucked into her mouth. She raised her eyebrows as he presented his father's cloak. As Harry put the cloak over both of them—and vaguely wondered what Ron would have to say about it—he felt some of their conversation sink in.  
  
Tom Riddle still haunted Ginny. Could Voldemort be penetrating her mind as he had Harry last year? Did it matter that he'd given the diary to Lucius Malfoy? Harry shivered with barely suppressed anger and hate and grief. He should have worked harder at Occlumency, told Dumbledore why he couldn't work with Snape—told Dumbledore lots of things—and he should have asked Ginny more questions about her first year.  
  
"Harry," Ginny whispered as they climbed awkwardly through the portrait hole. "Does it hurt? Occlumency?"  
  
"Not as much as not doing it."  
  
Harry swallowed hard. He felt Ginny's hand gently squeeze his arm. The portrait swung open, and Harry wordlessly went through, Ginny close to his side, her hand now gone but the comfort still there. Oddly enough, Harry only felt resolve replacing his tumultuous anger and grief.  
  
The walk to Dumbledore's office was silent. When they reached the gargoyle, it was already open, the spiraling staircase moving quietly, expectantly. Harry removed the cloak and Ginny stepped away, her hair tousled, her cheeks slightly red from the warmth under the cloak.  
  
"Well, I guess he really does know everything," she said, gesturing at the apparent welcome.  
  
"No, not everything." Harry stared at the moving staircase.  
  
Ginny took a deep breath, causing Harry to look back at her.  
  
"Well, I guess I better get going," she said, wringing her hands nervously. "Maybe then I can get some sleep, eh?" When Harry didn't say anything, she looked at her feet (which Harry just realized were bare like his), and gave a little huff. Finally, she gave him a little smile. "Thank you, Harry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Oh, for not fleeing when I mentioned needing Occlumency lessons, and bringing me up here." She gave a sheepish shrug. "It's easier to do the rest alone when someone gives you a nudge, you know?"  
  
"You're not doing it alone," Harry said. The decision had been made in the corridors, but it was only reaffirmed now. "I'm coming with you." He tried to muster a half-hearted smile, but it hurt his mouth. "I'm going to take Occlumency lessons again if Dumbledore will let me."  
  
"Good." She flashed him another smile before her face clouded and she turned up the stairs. As Harry stood behind her and began to rise up the tower, he wondered if perhaps his continuing Occlumency had been part of her plan all along.  
  
Not that it mattered. Voldemort wasn't going to use either of them again; Harry would make sure of that.  
  
A/N: Voila! I'm thinking about writing a "6th year" fic based off this scenario, but since I am currently working three jobs, working on the EVIL sequel to Captive, and have three other fics waiting to be written, I'm not sure if I'll ever have the chance before the next book comes out. Also, since www.sugarquill.net placed such restrictions on submissions, I no longer have a beta reader . . . so, if anyone knows a good beta, I would be happy to know! 


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